


Oil on Water

by thegayemu



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Enemies to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda?, M/M, Sick Jaskier | Dandelion, Sickfic, Whump, it's barely either of those honestly it's just an excuse for marxskier cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29382198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegayemu/pseuds/thegayemu
Summary: When Jaskier, home sick from classes, hears a knock at his door, he certainly doesn't expect to find his arch nemesis/rival trombone player on the other side. (Or, a shameless excuse for marxskier cuddles no one asked for.)(Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt #2)
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Valdo Marx
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2119530
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	Oil on Water

**Author's Note:**

> Instead of finishing any of the prompts anyone's actually requested, I did this instead. Hopefully you all still enjoy :)
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr :)](https://brasskier.tumblr.com/)

A knock at his door jarred Jaskier out of his dreamless sleep, and he rolled onto his stomach, pressing his face against the pillow. It was a single knock, polite and undemanding, and Jaskier decided whatever campus nonsense it was could wait until he wasn't dying. 

The knock came again, the slightest bit more urgent, and he had to fight back the urge to groan, wary of confirming his dorm's occupancy to whoever was outside. Then a third time, and he hazily wondered if his absolute boneheaded idiot of a roommate could've forgotten his key. He pushed himself up on trembling arms, head swimming with the change in altitude, and a fourth rap rattled through his skull.

That couldn't be it. Geralt had gone home early for the weekend - lucky bastard with no Friday classes. At knock number five, he allowed himself the slight comfort of a quiet groan buried into his hands. Blanket draped over his shoulders like a cape and sweeping the worn carpet of his room, he dragged himself unsteadily to the door. A sixth knock was underway as he unceremoniously nudged the door open, nearly toppling over himself as a hand reached around and swung it the rest of the way open.

"You look disgusting," the hand's owner leered, and Jaskier gave his best scowl as he regained his composure. Valdo _fucking_ Marx, the only other sophomore jazz trombone major and Jaskier's sworn mortal enemy. 

"Thanks," he muttered once he'd recaptured control of his breath, arms folded petulantly across his chest. "You always knew just how to flatter a man." 

"What can I say? I aim to please," he snarked back, taking a step forward, and-- _oh, fuck,_ why was he entering his dorm? Jaskier contemplated fighting him, but at the moment he didn't have half enough energy to deal with that. 

"Sure you do." Maybe if he just went back to sleep Valdo would get bored and fuck off, so that's exactly what he decided to do, trudging back to his bed and flopping onto the sheets with a huff. 

"Your dumb jock's not around to clean up after you?" Valdo's voice continued, and Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut in a vague attempt to will him away.

"Left for the weekend," he grumbled back. "He has a name, you know." Valdo laughed, that obnoxious prep school laugh of his. 

"Don't be daft, of course I know. Geralt Rivia, star quarterback of the Oxenfurt Wolves, blah blah blah." Jaskier was vaguely aware of the sound of rummaging somewhere behind him, and he fought the urge to look, resting in uneasy silence.

"Why are you here?" He asked finally when he couldn't take it any longer.

"You weren't at rehearsal today," Valdo replied simply, as if that singular statement explained anything at all. Jaskier snorted into his pillow.

"What, you missed me? Steal any solos from under my nose?" The rummaging stopped, and Jaskier could hear shoes being kicked off - that _absolute bastard,_ just making himself at home, and while he was utterly defenseless no less.

"Wanted to make sure you didn't waste away and die," Valdo bit back. "And no, we each still have three solos." Ah, yes, the compromise - six solos total, two improv and a jazz ballad each - the only thing standing between the two of them strangling each other. Perhaps Jaskier was losing his mind, but something warm he couldn't quite put his finger on sprouted in his chest, somewhere along the line of exasperated fondness. "Don't think I didn't try, though."

"How sweet," he huffed, tugging the blanket further up to his chin. "Sorry to disappoint, but I assure you, I'll live. It's just a migraine." To Jaskier's absolute horror, he felt the bed dip beneath him and a palm come to rest against his cheek. If only he had the strength (physically _or_ emotionally) to pull away.

"Just a migraine my ass," Valdo scoffed, withdrawing his hand and rising from the bed again. "You're burning up, you dumb fuck." More rummaging, and this time Jaskier couldn't resist prying his head from the pillow and glancing up. He was buried in his backpack, and Jaskier only now took note of the trombone case resting by the door - an immaculately kept custom case, itself worth more than Jaskier's actual instrument. Valdo had come straight from rehearsal, it dawned on him, and that warmth returned, flushing his cheeks. "Don't know how you've survived this long, can't even take care of yourself."

"So maybe it's a bit worse." He tried to shrug, finding it mostly impossible from his position draped over the bed. "I'm fine. Just need to sleep it off." Valdo chuckled to himself, withdrawing whatever he was looking for and returning to Jaskier's side. He recoiled a bit, on instinct, and sheepishly hoped Valdo didn't notice. 

"Here." Something thumped against Jaskier's side before dropping to the bed, and after blindly fumbling for it he found it was a bottle of ibuprofen. He turned it over uncertainly between his thumb and forefinger, wondering idly if Valdo was above poisoning him or not. "Do you have anything to drink in this shithole-- other than beer?" He rolled his eyes - an effort that made him far dizzier than it had any right to.

"Brita," he bit out, jerking his thumb towards the bathroom door, and Valdo disappeared before returning with the pitcher and a glass, shoving aside clutter to place them on the bedside table. Jaskier accepted the glass silently, swallowing the pills and sipping cautiously.

"Isn't that better?" Valdo gently scooted him to the side - an act Jaskier was horrified to realize was rather easy for his nemesis - and came to rest on the edge of his bed.

"I guess so." He yawned, hand held limply over his mouth, and appraised Valdo suspiciously. "Why are you doing all this?" 

"Can't have you die on me." Valdo reached out a hand, traced the edge of his face gently. Jaskier's grasp on wakefulness was beginning to slip, but it almost sounded like the boy cared. "Jazz ensemble's no fun without competition, no matter how inferior that rival might be." 

"Thanks, really," Jaskier mumbled, slipping further down onto the bed. He felt the bed shift again, and against all better judgement jutted an arm out blindly, coming to clasp around Valdo's wrist. "Stay?" Valdo let out a huff, and then a beleaguered sigh.

"Fine. Move." Jaskier obeyed, shimmying to the far edge of the bed, eyes lighting up as Valdo crawled in beside him. "You're lucky I don't have anymore classes tonight." Jaskier draped an arm over his stomach, pressing his face into the crook of Valdo's neck. He smelt like pine and slide grease and the familiar metallic tang of brass. "And so help me god, if you get me sick, and right before juries, I swear I'll--"

"Shut up and hold me," Jaskier muttered languidly, tugging Valdo's arm across his shoulder. His classmate (mortal enemy? Friend? Occasional lover?) obliged, hesitantly rubbing his back. He hummed a tune from their repertoire that semester - _Blue Rondo A La Turk,_ Jaskier's favorite - until Jaskier finally slipped back to sleep.

Another knock at his door once again jarred Jaskier out of his slumber, this one far more demanding and impatient. By the time he managed to push himself up against the headboard and rub the sleep from his eyes, Valdo was already at the door, and he felt childishly relieved to find him still present. 

"Who was that? My RA?" He asked drowsily as Valdo returned, sliding back onto the bed and earning a sigh of relief from Jaskier

"No," he laughed. "Your idiot roommate forgot his key." Jaskier groaned into his pillow before latching back onto Valdo like a spider monkey.

"Talk to me," he mumbled after a few minutes of struggling to fall back asleep. Valdo raised an eyebrow at him.

"About what?" Jaskier snorted; _since when did Valdo need prompting to run his mouth?_

"You never shut up about yourself, so you could start there," he chuckled. Valdo grinned, launching into some obscenely exaggerated tale from his time as drum major at Cidaris Prep. Usually, Jaskier would've teased and prodded him for it - _don't you think it's time to stop reliving your high school glory days?_ \- but instead, he let his unfettered reminiscing lull him.

He knew he was going to get an earful from Geralt (and probably Geralt's girlfriend and frat brothers, too) regarding the fact that his sworn nemesis answered the door. But he'd cross that bridge when he got to it. For now, he was cozy and content, and that was all he cared about. Maybe Valdo wasn't so bad, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, writing this was extra fun, and I definitely need to write more Valdo/Jaskier in the future. Now I promise I'll work on actual prompts lmao.
> 
> You can find my board and send requests for BTHB over at [my Tumblr](https://brasskier.tumblr.com/)


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